


See Me as I Am

by Bedalk05



Series: Geralt Deserves Soft Things [10]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eskel Needs a Hug (The Witcher), Established Relationship, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier is Everyone’s Emotional Support Bard, Jaskier is Geralt’s Emotional Support Bard, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24499207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bedalk05/pseuds/Bedalk05
Summary: "Geralt! If we don't get to the keep before Eskel he'll tell Marya about "The Incident" and then you will be sans a fiance. Youknowhe's powerless against the temptation of her biscuits, tea, and pets."Jaskier handles the consequences of his run in with his "parents." Fortunately, his wolves are there to help him through it.AKA, 10,000+ words of found family fluff and cuddles pretending to be plot.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert, Eskel & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Vesemir, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion & Vesemir, Vesemir (The Witcher)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Geralt Deserves Soft Things [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742950
Comments: 204
Kudos: 789
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to "Watch Me Bare My Claws." As many of you mentioned, Jaskier was a tad impulsive and dramatic and that's gonna bite him in the ass. This fic will also feature a couple different people's prompts, starting with theclichefortunecookie's request for some Eskel and Jaskier bonding.

Jaskier sighs dejectedly as he takes a long sip of ale. Since “The Incident” Jaskier and Geralt have traveled apart. Apparently shifting into a giant ass wolf in the middle of a noble’s betrothal feast doesn’t open many doors for you. In fact, as word travelled, “The Incident” quickly morphed into a tale of blood, horror, and death to the point that the first time they tried entering a large village they were chased out by an angry mob. 

Fortunately, people don’t seem to register who the “monster bard” is when he’s not beside the “White Wolf.” Hopefully things will cool down after a few months. In the meantime Jaskier has had to acclimate with the lonely road and it’s the fucking worst. 

He is gathering the motivation he needs to sing in a tavern without his mate watching in the corner or arriving after a hunt when he hears raised voices. Looking up, Jaskier frowns. The one problem with enhanced hearing is it can be hard to tell when sounds he hears are in the room he’s in or not. Drinking several mugs of alcohol probably doesn’t help. 

Sniffing Jaskier releases a low snarl. Nilfgaardians. Throwing back the rest of his drink, Jaskier slings his lute and pack over his head, checking that his sword is secure on his hip. He could use a bit of a fight. Stumbling out of the tavern and around the bend, he begins growling, skin itching to shift so Jaskier can rip into the two soldiers cornering a girl no older than 20. 

“C’mon sweet cheeks, just a peek,” one of the bastards sneers, grimy hands reaching towards the young woman. With a flick of his wrist Jaskier throws the dagger he keeps in his doublet at the pig, grinning with satisfaction when it pierces the man’s neck. The second jackass whirls around just to find his head promptly separating from his body. 

Groaning at the blood now staining his doublet, Jaskier removes it in order to clean off his sword, placing his pack and lute down in the process. Smiling kindly at the trembling girl Jaskier cocks his head. “You alright?” At her shaky nod Jaskier hums before turning and freezing. 

Aw, fuck. He should have noticed the stench permeated the town, not just this corner of it. Jaskier takes a slow breath as he counts how many currently surround him. Hmm. 10 vs. 1. This should be interesting. Dropping his doublet into the dirt Jaskier tosses his sword idly between his hands. “Hi,” he says brightly. “What are the odds that I can buy you all a drink and then we can call it a day?” 

When the men start approaching him with their swords raised Jaskier sighs. “Yeah I don't have that kinda money anyway,” he mutters. Throwing his head back he groans. “Fiiiine.” In a blur of movement Jaskier launches himself at the first man, slashing across his chest before spinning and beheading the next. Dodging a thrown dagger, Jaskier ducks under a sword strike before dragging his weapon up and through his opponent’s stomach.

His mind is clear and blank of everything except his next possible move as he glides from one man to the next, but even Marya’s training can’t guarantee a successful fight. The first problem comes when one asshole manages a lucky swipe at Jaskier’s sword arm despite his attempts to dodge it. Fuck. Now he’s starting to understand Geralt’s insistence that Jaskier learn how to fight left handed. 

Switching sword arms, Jaskier winces. He probably should have taken Geralt’s request a bit more seriously. Despite his best efforts, Jaskier is swiftly disarmed and restrained, a stab in the chest causing him to falter. 

One soldier who, based off of his uniform, is the leader, begins sauntering towards him. Though Jaskier tries to pull away, it turns out even shifter strength is no match against three burly and angry men. Especially when they dig a finger into his wounded arm.

Mind racing as he hisses in pain Jaskier shakes his head. Shifter. Right. 

Grinning Jaskier remarks amiably, “You sure you don’t want that drink?" When the man just smirks Jaskier tilts his head. "No? Alright then.” Shifting, Jaskier launches himself at the soldier’s throat with a snarl, taking no small amount of satisfaction at the taste of blood on his tongue. Releasing a howl Jaskier turns to bite through one soldier’s leg before tackling another and clawing open his chest. 

With only one man left Jaskier allows a bloody grin to spread across his face. Rumbling at the look of terror in the young man's eyes, Jaskier begins to slowly walk towards him. When the coward turns tail to run Jaskier gives chase, his adrenaline and instincts to hunt overtaking his reasoning. 

He manages to tackle the soldier before sense breaks through his blood haze. Fuck. Jaskier can’t attack a man trying to flee, even someone from Nilfgaard. Especially one so young. Hopping off of him, Jaskier releases a savage growl, feet planted firmly in the ground as the man runs off once again. Part of Jaskier is clawing to give chase but he puts pressure on his wounded leg to distract himself from the urge. 

Huffing out a breath, Jaskier appraises the gory tableau with satisfaction and notices distantly the gathering crowd of villagers before him. Taking mental survey of his injuries, Jaskier begins limping forward so he can retrieve his possessions and medbag. A crossbow aimed at his heart stops him. “Get outta here ya monster,” a man clutching the woman Jaskier saved snarls. “We’ll give you one minute to run for saving my girl then we’re putting you down.” 

Jaskier’s stomach plummets. He releases a soft whine, ears flattening. Why do they want to attack him? He just _saved_ her. When he looks beseechingly at the girl she averts her gaze, hands gripping what Jaskier now registers as his pack and lute. Fury and hurt rage through him. Fuck those are _his._ But at the determined and terrified faces of the villagers, Jaskier backs up before racing out of town. There are always other lutes and swords and clothes. 

Panting from exertion and pain once he reaches the woods. Jaskier finally collapses onto the ground, the noises of the village fading. Fuck. He needs to bandage his wounds but all of his shit is in the hands of that ungrateful cur. Without the adrenaline of the fight, Jaskier’s emotions overtake him. Monster. They call _him_ monster. Now Jaskier understands more fully why Geralt punched him over the whole “Butcher of Blaviken” remark. From the few details he’s managed to drag out of the witcher, their experiences are not too far apart. Jaskier would punch anyone who shoves this incident in his face too. 

Of course, he would need to still be alive in order to punch anyone. His thoughts are growing cloudy and part of him knows that’s not a good sign. 

Jaskier is tired. He can just...take a nap right? Just rest his head. Head heavy, his vision is darkening when a scent that is vaguely familiar enters the wooded clearing Jaskier is in. Blinking blearily, Jaskier releases a low growl at the figure slowly making its way to him. He’s trying to find the energy to stand-Marya will be furious if she learns he was killed lying down-when a voice penetrates the fog of his mind. 

“Oh _fuck_ Jaskier it _is_ you. No wolf would have that collar. Thank the gods Geralt is a pathetic romantic sap.” Battle-worn hands lift Jaskier’s head and he blinks into a face marred by scarring and worry. “Shit you’re in bad shape,” Eskel mutters. “I’m here now little wolf-I got you.” As darkness overtakes him Jaskier's last thoughts are _Pack. Safe._

*******

Eskel isn’t panicking. Witchers don’t feel fear. (Gods he can hear how Jaskier would rant at him for such a comment, and his hands begin to work faster to sew up one of the shifter’s wounds.) _Fuck._ If he hadn’t been nearby, if he didn’t catch and follow the familiar scent of honey and flowers...fuck just imagining the devastation that would have fallen upon Kaer Morhen was too horrific to linger on. 

Taking a shaky breath, Eskel returns his full focus to his stitches and the slow but steady breathing of the creature beside him. But questions continue to race through his head. How was he injured? Why is he shifted? And where the _fuck_ is Geralt? 

The moon is high in the sky when Eskel is satisfied with his stitching and has covered the shifter’s wounds with healing salve and bandages. Now he can only wait. 

Unwilling to leave the hurt bard more vulnerable than he already is, Eskel pulls out his whetstone and begins sharpening his swords. If whoever attacked their wolf has any plans of finishing him off, they'll have to answer to Eskel’s blade. 

A rustle in the bushes makes Eskel stand fluidly, sword raised at the intruder. Wide brown eyes framed by curly auburn hair and a young face causes Eskel to falter. The girl in nothing but a nightgown and boots can be no more than 19 or 20. What the fuck is she doing out in these woods? Then his gaze drops to what she’s carrying: a pack, a sword, and a lute. 

Brandishing his weapon Eskel barks, “How did you come upon those items?” 

Eskel observes with vague interest when instead of fleeing the young woman sticks her chin out stubbornly and takes a step forward, heedless of how close the sword is to her neck. She has some fire in her. The woman glances at the wolf sleeping by Eskel’s feet, biting her lip. “Is he alive?” Her voice is deeper than Eskel expected but no less beautiful for it. 

Nodding Eskel growls, “What happened to him?” 

A flash of guilt crosses her face. Shoulders sagging, she whispers, “He saved me. Then took on a group of Nilfgaardians on his own. In the middle of the fight when he was trapped he turned into-that.” 

Another glance at the wolf, this one full of burning curiosity. Protectiveness surging through him, Eskel steps to the right to block her view. “And then?” he prompts, knowing that's not the end of the tale. Otherwise he wouldn’t have found Jaskier half dead and alone in the woods. He has to bite his cheek to prevent a shudder of horror at what could have been if Eskel had not found the shifter.

Now her face crumples, brown eyes shining with unshed tears. “My father and the other villagers forced him to leave.” Stepping forward, ignoring the fact that it causes Eskel’s sword to touch her collarbone, the woman pleads, “Please witcher, do not punish them for their ignorance. I came to return his possessions and have brought some bread and wine as thanks. But spare them.” 

“If I wasn’t here you’d have no one to thank because he’d be dead,” Eskel snarls, fury rippling through him. Fuck. Eskel is used to being chased out of town as “thanks” for ridding them of monsters; it comes with being a witcher. But to banish Jaskier-the brightest, kindest, most cheerful creature on the Continent-gods how cruel and blind must you be? (How much carnage could one shifter create?) 

Placing Jaskier’s items down the girl bows. “And I will live with that knowledge for the rest of my days,” she murmurs. Those emotive eyes meet Eskel’s once again. “Thank you for tending to him. Please-express my gratitude and my apologies for his treatment.” 

When Eskel simply grunts, the girl turns to leave. “Wait.” Turning, she tilts her head to him. “What name should I give him for the lady who snuck out at night to deliver his possessions?” 

A soft smile spreads across her face. “Kasia,” is the murmured response, before the enigmatic woman disappears back through the woods. 

Huh. Curious woman. 

But more mysterious is why there was no mention of Geralt. Where is that fool? Sighing, Eskel settles back down, laying his sword before him and stroking a hand through Jaskier’s coat. Hopefully Jaskier will be able to explain in due time. 

*******

_Not again_ Jaskier groans, as he wakes to a stabbing pain along his body and light streaming through the trees. Blinking his eyes open Jaskier feels a surge of disappointment when he realizes he isn’t in Kaer Morhen but rather in the middle of the woods. He’s assuaged though when Jaskier spots a familiar face in the firelight. Eskel. 

When Jaskier attempts to shift the witcher moves with a speed that makes Jaskier blink in surprise. Gods, for such a large man he can move awfully quick. “Hush little wolf, don’t shift,” Eskel murmurs, brushing a calming hand down Jaskier’s coat. 

Huffing out a sigh, Jaskier settles back down. Gods, he should have known better than to try moving. But where the fuck did Eskel come from? Jaskier cocks his head, releasing an inquiring whine. Lifting Jaskier’s head so he rests in the witcher’s lap, Eskel begins scratching firmly behind his ears and along his neck. “I was in the area. You were almost gone when I found you,” Eskel murmurs, pressing his temple against Jaskier’s muzzle. Smiling at Jaskier’s soft lick the witcher releases a shuddering breath. “I was afraid I was too late.”

Gods, this poor man probably stayed up all night with worry. Wanting to express his thanks and apologize for scaring the witcher, Jaskier nudges Eskel’s head and covers his face with eager licks, not halting until Eskel leans away with a laugh. “Alright you menace,“ he chuckles fondly before pressing their heads together again. “I’m glad you’re alright,” he whispers. Lips pursing he adds, “But once you’re healed enough to shift you’ll have to point me to Geralt so I can lecture him about leaving you alone.” 

Jaskier whines, ears flattening. Fuck-this is all Jaskier’s fault, not Geralt’s. Gods and Geralt is never going to let Jaskier out of his sight if Eskel manages to tell him what happened. He’ll have to find a suitable way of bribing the witcher. Turning away in contemplation Jaskier’s eyes alight on items he thought were lost. In his eagerness to investigate them Jaskier briefly forgets about his injury. As Jaskier yelps from his attempted movement Eskel seizes Jaskier by his scruff. “Foolish thing,” Eskel chastises. “Don’t make me pin you down.”

_Is that a promise?_ Jaskier snickers to himself, cracking a lupine grin. 

Eskel rolls his eyes. “Get your head outta the gutter you animal,” he huffs. Turning to where Jaskier is still pointed Eskel tangles his fingers in the shifter’s fur. “The girl you saved snuck here last night to bring your things back and to thank you,” he explains softly. "Kasia is her name." Jaskier’s heart flips and the sorrow he’s been feeling since he woke up lifts slightly. At least he wasn’t a monster to everyone. Who knows? Maybe she’ll be able to sway some people. 

Hmm. A song could help change people's opinions perhaps, just as "Toss a Coin" was able to. But before Jaskier can find himself too far down the path of composing Eskel lifts his head and gives him a stern look. “We’re going to talk about your attempts to take on an entire mini army by yourself later.” Eskel’s scowl melts away into an affronted sputter when Jaskier responds with a slobbery lick across his face. “See if I’ll pet you if you’re gonna be a brat,” Eskel sniffs, crossing his arms. Jaskier just watches Eskel smugly. Sure, we’ll see how long that lasts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Travelling with Eskel is a delight. Though Jaskier is unceasingly amused and entertained by Geralt’s gruff personality, there is something slightly refreshing with having the opportunity to engage in stimulating academic discussions. “I think we can both agree that you simply lack any sense of taste,” Eskel huffs, throwing up his arms as he walks beside Jaskier. Jaskier grins from where he rides atop Scorpion. Of course “discussions” may be too loose a term for the near feral debates he and his companion frequently find themselves in._

Travelling with Eskel is a delight. Though Jaskier is unceasingly amused and entertained by Geralt’s gruff personality, there is something slightly refreshing with having the opportunity to engage in stimulating academic discussions. “I think we can both agree that you simply lack any sense of taste,” Eskel huffs, throwing up his arms as he walks beside Jaskier. Jaskier grins from where he rides atop Scorpion. Of course “discussions” may be too loose a term for the near feral debates he and his companion frequently find themselves in. 

The shifter drops the conversation, relaxing in the saddle as he luxuriates in the rare privilege of riding a horse. (Eskel is a bigger nursemaid than Geralt apparently.) Healing had been an arduous process; Jaskier had lost a shocking amount of blood by the time Eskel had found him. Even with his rapid healing Jaskier had to remain shifted for close to a fortnight. 

They’re only travelling again because if they delay another day Jaskier will be late meeting Geralt in Rinde and the witcher would panic. Eskel insists on escorting Jaskier, complicating Jaskier’s chance at preventing Geralt from learning about what happened. But that’s a worry for future Jaskier. Right now, Jaskier is simply enjoying the crisp autumn air, the gentle stead beneath him, and the pleasurable company of the witcher beside him. 

“Eskel?”

“Hmm?” the witcher responds, idly kicking a stone ahead of him.

“If you could make any wish, what would it be?” Jaskier isn’t sure where the question came from but now that he's stated it out loud he’s burning to know what the witcher will say. The ensuing silence echoing off of his companion is tense and fraught. Shoulders hunched, Eskel’s fist clenches as Geralt’s often does when he longs to grip his sword. 

Despite his urge to know what Eskel will say Jaskier is about to apologize and take the question back when the witcher speaks. Head tilted away so even craning his neck Jaskier can’t see his expression Eskel murmurs, “I’d get my face back.” 

Jaskier’s brow furrows. That was certainly not what he was expecting. “Your face?” 

The sound that emanates from Eskel’s throat could be described as a laugh if one were being generous. “You can drop the whole act bard. I know how repulsive I look.” Horror seals Jaskier’s throat shut. Since Jaskier met Eskel it was clear the witcher was self-conscious about his scars and it was a topic he avoided talking about. But Jaskier really thought he was starting to believe the shifter when he would shower Eskel with compliments. 

Tugging on Scorpion’s reins, Jaskier dismounts, only wincing slightly at the ripple of pain along his torso from the impact. Grabbing the retreating form of Eskel with his left arm, Jaskier firmly tugs at the witcher, smiling slightly when he stumbles back. His wolves always forget how strong Jaskier is. Circling Eskel so they are front to front, Jaskier grips his chin gently before drawing him to face the bard. “Listen closely to me my wolf,” Jaskier hisses. “I may be many things but I do not sing false praises. Yes, I tend to exaggerate but no one wants to listen to a ballad that does not hold a glimmer of truth. And I refuse to lie to those I love.” 

Leaning forward, Jaskier brushes his lips along the marred skin, tracing its trail from Eskel’s forehead to the tip of his lips. Along the way he pauses to breathe praises. “You are strong. You are brave. You are kind. You are intelligent.” Pulling away so he can meet the gaze of those lost golden eyes, Jaskier adds fiercely, “And you are beautiful.” Taking a step back Jaskier crosses his arms. “And if anyone says differently gladly direct them to me and I will happily introduce them to my sword.” 

Eskel stares at Jaskier like he is one of the dense lines of poetry the witcher loves so much, his gaze burning. As Eskel remains standing there, speechless, Jaskier nods firmly, point made, and mounts Scorpion slowly, hating the strain the motion still puts on his arm. Bloody Nilfgaardians. 

Clucking his tongue Jaskier quickly passes Eskel who is still fixed in place. “You know what I would wish for?” Jaskier muses. “That Valdo fucking Marx dies of apoplexy.” 

Jaskier grins at the scramble of movement that follows his pronouncement. That seems to have woken the poor man up from his shock. “Do I want to know what he did to you?” Eskel asks apprehensively. 

Jaskier’s smile widens. “I’m glad you brought it up. You see it all started back in Oxenfurt-” 

*******

With Eskel’s long legs and valiant stead, they make it to Rinde in record time. But unfortunately, they get there a bit _too_ soon since Jaskier has not fully healed yet and Geralt will be able to tell. Oh Melitele Jaskier is not looking forward to that conversation. 

When they walk into the tavern Jaskier is immediately accosted by a frantic-looking wolf. “Why are you holding yourself wrong?” Geralt demands, hands searching for signs of blood. 

Sighing and elbowing Eskel who is trying to muffle a laugh, Jaskier whines at his mate, “Can we save the interrogation until after I get several drinks in me?” Geralt scowls, but after glancing at Eskel and receiving confirmation that Jaskier isn’t about to keel over, he grunts before embracing the shifter gently. 

Jaskier inhales his mate’s scent of grass and sweat and clear blue skies, sighing as the missing piece of his soul slots into place. He smiles when Geralt greedily returns the gesture, nuzzling in the crook of Jaskier’s neck and rumbling his pleasure. 

Finally they part and Geralt moves to grasp Eskel’s arm before pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he mumbles. 

“For what?” Eskel asks as he discreetly scents Geralt. 

Drawing back so he can glance at the two travel companions with a frown Geralt remarks, “Because I’m guessing he’s alive because of you.” 

“Oh is that the barkeep I see?” Jaskier exclaims, hurrying away. “Yes I would like a drink or 5, thank you!” 

*******

Unfortunately, not even Jaskier’s many charms could distract Geralt enough from seeking the truth. He's like a fucking bloodhound when he wants to be. Finally, with an exasperated huff, Jaskier tells his mate what happened and then promptly has to restrain him from marching back to Temeria to sack a village single-handedly. 

As the three of them lounge by the fire in their rented room, Jaskier soothes his wolf, guiding Geralt down to rest in his lap and stroking through those beautiful silver locks steadily. “I’m still in one piece my love, it’s alright,” he croons, breathing a sigh of relief as the tension threatening to explode out of the witcher slowly starts to dissipate. 

Turning so he can gently rub his face against Jaskier’s newest scar Geralt grumbles, “Barely.” 

“And they call me the dramatic one,” Jaskier sighs, pressing a tender kiss to his mate’s forehead. 

Arms snake up and around Jaskier’s waist as Geralt buries himself further into the bard’s body. “Never letting you out of my sight again,” he vows. 

Jaskier sticks his tongue at Eskel’s amused gaze peering over his mug of ale as a rush of fondness fills his chest at his ridiculous creature. “Unless you are prepared for this relationship to become far more intimate than either of us wishes, there will have to be some moments where I must be alone dear heart,” Jaskier says lightly.

“Hmm,” is his only response, the arms around him tightening slightly. Jaskier smiles. Yes, academic discourse can be quite enjoyable but between that and his monosyllabic oaf of a mate, Jaskier will choose the latter every time. 

*******

Geralt is woken rather rudely by someone frantically shaking him. Rolling so he is hovering protectively over Jaskier, Geralt pulls out the dagger hiding under his pillow, scanning for danger. When none appears he looks down to check on the shifter to find a sheepish face staring up at him. 

“Yes perhaps I shouldn’t have jolted the trained monster hunter awake,” Jaskier muses to himself quietly.

“Why did you wake me?” Geralt rasps. Gods he was hoping to stay in a bit longer. He hasn’t slept so well for months, lacking his mate’s body by his side fo so long. 

Putting a palm over Geralt’s mouth Jaskier whispers urgently, “We need to leave for Kaer Morhen now.” Furrowing his brow, Geralt glances over at where Eskel is clearly feigning sleep to give them a sense of privacy.

“Once Eskel is up we’ll start making our way.” 

Geralt frowns when Jaskier shakes his head emphatically. "Geralt! If we don't get to the keep before Eskel he'll tell Marya about "The Incidents" and then you will be sans a fiance. You **know** he's powerless against the temptation of her biscuits, tea, and pets." 

Geralt hums in consideration. On one hand, Jaskier is most certainly right and the odds of the shifter surviving his mother’s wrath when she learns about the stunts he pulled these past few months are slim to none. On the other hand, if Jaskier survives maybe he’ll take it as a lesson and stop doing impulsive shit that are guaranteed to send Geralt to an early grave. 

Humming, Geralt leans down to bring Jaskier into a lazy kiss, smiling as the bard eagerly returns it, flicking his tongue teasingly across the seam of his lips. Gods he missed this. 

Pulling back Geralt allows his grin to shift, enjoying the mounting look of horror crossing Jaskier’s face at Geralt’s expression. “Hey Eskel!” Geralt calls. “Wanna travel with us to Kaer Morhen before getting a head start up the mountain? I think I want to take the scenic route with Jaskier this year.” 

Rolling so he can smirk at the bard currently attempting to bury himself into his pillow with a pitiful moan Eskel quips, “It would be my absolute pleasure.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jaskier beams brightly at the welcoming party as his grip tightens on Geralt’s arm, causing him to wince. Damn shifter strength. “Marya! My dearest mother the woman who raised me the-ow ow ow.”_
> 
> _As Jaskier is dragged away by his ear Geralt briefly considers following him before wisely staying put after spotting Marya’s stormy expression. Jaskier has already undoubtedly lost Biscuit Privileges and since Geralt was there for one of The Incidents he’s probably on thin ice. Better play it safe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your comments and kudos so far! Final chapter (or chapters if me and my muse disagree again) should be released later today.

Geralt currently has a limpet clinging to him in the shape of a bard. He’s had this burden since Eskel ripped himself out of the shifter’s surprisingly strong grip at the bottom of the mountain to race ahead.

Despite Jaskier’s many attempts at bribery, nothing he could say or do matches the threat of losing Biscuit Privileges. It only took Eskel climbing onto a rampart last year despite Marya’s protestations that it was unsteady and his subsequent injury and punishment for the witcher to determinately never risk losing such privileges again. The threat is very much real. 

As Geralt and his heavy load enter the keep, they are greeted by a mixture of expressions: amusement from Lambert and Yennefer, worry from Ciri, innocence from Eskel as he munches on a biscuit, disapproval from Vesemir, and a cloud of fury from Marya. 

Jaskier beams brightly at the welcoming party as his grip tightens on Geralt’s arm, causing him to wince. Damn shifter strength. “Marya! My dearest mother the woman who raised me the-ow ow ow.”

As Jaskier is dragged away by his ear Geralt briefly considers following him before wisely staying put after spotting Marya’s stormy expression. Jaskier has already undoubtedly lost Biscuit Privileges and since Geralt was there for one of The Incidents he’s probably on thin ice. Better play it safe. 

Opening his arms just in time to catch Ciri, Geralt lets out a huff of breath. “What have I told you about growing pup?” Geralt growls good-naturedly as he nuzzles his daughter. Gods she's grown. Breathing in her scent, a mixture of lemon and crackling ozone from her magic, Geralt sighs contentedly. He missed this. 

Laughing, Ciri tries to wriggle out of Geralt’s arms with little success. “If I’m too heavy for you maybe Vesemir needs to put you through some extra training,” she teases, grinning when Geralt bares his teeth at the threat. 

Throwing her over the shoulder he grumbles, “Insolent pups lose out on Biscuit Privileges,” smirking at her indignant squawk. 

“You can’t enforce who has Biscuit Privileges!” she exclaims. After a pause she adds nervously, “Can you?”

Chuckling, Geralt tosses his daughter at Lambert who catches her with a yawn. “Lambert, I think Ciri could use some extra training this winter,” Geralt remarks casually, grinning when Lambert throws an arm around her and guides Ciri away with an ominous smile.

“Oh it would be my pleasure,” he purrs. 

As they walk away Geralt embraces Vesemir, breathing in a contented sigh at the solid arms that have always held him up. “Good to be home,” he mumbles into his mentor’s shoulder. 

“Heard you had a rough end of season,” Vesemir rumbles. 

Humming, Geralt pulls away and glances between Eskel and Vesemir. “How mad is she?” he inquires. Their expressions speak for themselves. 

“Oh I’m sure she’ll let him out of the keep in another century,” Yennefer remarks idly, drifting over to kiss Geralt on the cheek. A whiff of the lilac and gooseberry scent that used to haunt his dreams settles something in Geralt and the last remaining tension from his time away evaporates. 

Raising an eyebrow Geralt shoots her a questioning glance. “She’s not angry as much as worried, pup,” Vesemir explains with a pat on his shoulder. “Though that doesn’t mean she isn’t going to make this winter a living hell for him,” he adds with a chuckle. Well, that’s a given. Should be an interesting season to say the least. 

*******

Jaskier is dragged unceremoniously into what he guesses is Marya and Vesemir’s shared quarters. Simple tapestries and rugged bookshelves line the walls while a fire merrily crackles away in the corner. Thick rugs cover almost every surface of the floor, two cozy armchairs and a large bed completing the warm atmosphere. 

Releasing him, Marya barks, “Shift,” before her human guise drops away and is replaced by a gray wolf. Knowing better than to question her, Jaskier obeys the order. 

Immediately he is smothered by 200+ pounds of worried mama wolf, snuffling in his ear and licking at his barely healed wounds with a whine. Suddenly all of Jaskier’s composure falls away. He’s tried to keep it together these past few weeks and just not think about what happened but being surrounded by the scent of his mother, being in the one place he can call home...Jaskier falls apart. 

Whining pitifully, Jaskier twines around his mum until nothing separates them, scenting at her desperately until they finally settle down. As they curl together Jaskier’s distress is dulled temporarily by the steady, grounding, rumble of his mother. Soon he finds himself being lulled to sleep, wrapped in the safety and comfort of his home. 

When he next wakes it is to Marya grooming Jaskier thoroughly, an act she hasn’t done since he was a pup. _Worry worry anger worry_ pulses off of the older shifter. Nuzzling her neck, Jaskier licks her muzzle in apology. He yelps when Marya grabs him by the scruff and drags him to sit. 

Shifting, Marya pulls her breeches and tunic back on silently and Jaskier follows suit. They sit in silence, Marya glaring at him while Jaskier attempts to look as contrite as possible. “What the fuck were you thinking?” she finally seethes. 

Tapping his knee Jaskier looks around the room nervously. “Um-well-for which incident are you referring?” he finally squeaks out, yelping and scrambling to catch himself when Marya grabs his chin and pulls him forward. Glacier eyes pin him in place and Jaskier immediately stops fighting her grip, gulping at Marya's weathered countenance, pinched with worry and simmering anger.

“Start at the beginning,” she grits out. Slumping into Marya’s grasp, he curls into her lap like the overgrown pup he is. Burying his face into her neck Jaskier relaxes as his mother wraps her arms around him and strokes a hand through his hair. 

Releasing a shaky sigh, Jaskier closes his eyes and recounts what happened. It’s like peeling open a poorly healed wound; Jaskier has buried himself in drinks and songs to try to distract from the reality of it all. It’s one thing to know conceptually that your kind is reviled and feared but it’s quite another to experience it firsthand.

Jaskier is proud of his shifter identity, so to have the same humans he has sung for, flirted and played with- _protect-_ turn on him when they learned about this ingrained part of his soul burns like a cockatrice’s venom. He never thought himself that different from the rest of the populace; apparently he was wrong. 

By the time Jaskier is finished with his tale the words are coming out in between stuttered sobs and Marya has begun rocking him like he truly is a pup again. Pressing her lips to Jaskier’s forehead Marya sighs. “I hoped you would never need to experience the hate of the world my Buttercup,” she murmurs. Jaskier just tries to wiggle further into her embrace. Perhaps if he tries hard enough he will be shielded from the world, hidden in the cocoon of his mother’s love. It’s a nice fantasy. 

*******

Geralt is currently being quite productive. He’s already unpacked everything he and Jaskier brought with them, groomed Roach, and now he’s starting to organize the winter’s provisions. 

In the groove, he startles at the drawl sounding from the door. “You know, at this rate there’ll be nothing for me, Lambert, and your mate to do to help prepare for winter.” Geralt only grunts in response to Eskel, not turning from where he works. He hears a sigh and then the heavy steps of his brother before Eskel slides in between Geralt and the table he is working at. 

Growling, Geralt’s irritation grows when Eskel simply crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow with an unimpressed expression. “If you’re so worried about him why don’t you go check on them?” 

Geralt bristles. Yes, it’s been over an hour since Jaskier was dragged away but from the lack of screaming and/or howling Geralt has to assume that his mate is still alive. “Hmm.” 

Rolling his eyes Eskel grabs Geralt’s arm. “C’mon you git let’s go save your mate.” As Geralt allows himself to be dragged out of the dining hall they pass Lambert and Ciri tussling in the training field. 

Looking up from where she’s biting the arm currently wrapped around her neck (definitely a maneuver taught by Jaskier) Ciri jumps up. “Are we gonna go save Jaskier?” she asks brightly. 

Standing with a pop of his back Lambert groans, “He and I are gonna have a chat about proper fighting techniques.” Brandishing his arm at Eskel Lambert inquires, “Does this look infected to you?”

In response, Eskel simply hooks an elbow around Lambert’s neck in a choke hold before dragging him along as well. Geralt and Lambert smirk at each other as they are led through the keep, following the mingling scents of honey and pine. It’s always a treat being manhandled by Eskel. He’s a fucking bear but rarely throws around his strength, preferring to use his words than his muscles. 

As they draw closer to Vesemir and Marya’s quarters, the witchers frown at the burnt smell of sorrow and taste of salt that can only come from tears. Fuck. Pulling away from Eskel, Geralt bursts through the door only to stop in his tracks with a mournful whine. 

Jaskier is curled in Marya’s lap, tears flowing down his cheeks as sobs rack his chest. The older shifter peers up from where she’s whispering sweet nothings into his ear, lips pinched in a frown. Jaskier doesn’t look up, only burrowing further into his mother’s chest.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Geralt knew that Jaskier was trying to hold it together while they travelled and he let the shifter do so, knowing that words aren’t his strength. He should have expected this breakdown once they reached the safety of the keep. Though every atom in his body is screaming at him to comfort his mate, Geralt doesn’t want to interrupt the two shifters. But when he takes a step back to leave, Marya shakes her head before gesturing for the group to come closer. 

The good humor that had followed them up the stairs has vanished, replaced by a solemn melancholy at the knowledge that one of their pack is in pain. Silently, the three witchers and Ciri arrange themselves until Jaskier is surrounded on every side by a warm body. Though Geralt can tell it’s a struggle to relinquish her hold on her son, Marya lays him down so Jaskier’s head is in Geralt’s lap and his feet are in Lambert’s. 

“I’m gonna give you the best fucking foot massage of your life Songbird,” Lambert vows before launching to fulfill his promise. Jaskier only sniffs in response, nuzzling Geralt’s stomach as he begins carding his fingers through the shifter’s hair. Eskel, Ciri, and Marya settle on the remaining sides of Jaskier, stroking and rubbing him until his sobs have dried up and he melts into a puddle of mush. Soon, the shifter’s breathing evens out as he drifts off to sleep, surrounded by his pack. 

Breathing slowly, Geralt continues to concentrate on keeping every touch gentle and soft as the fury he has carefully locked away comes roaring to the surface. “I want to burn them all to the ground,” he says lowly, distantly shocked at the venom coloring his words. Grunts echo in agreement. 

“What he needs is his pack, not revenge,” Vesemir rumbles as he enters the room. Striding over to the group, he settles himself behind Marya so he can wrap his arms around the shifter. Turning her head, she shares a brief kiss with Vesemir while the other witchers balk in horror. Seeing their (adoptive) dad who is known more for his bark then his cuddles get all mushy and lovey dovey is still relatively new. 

A moment later Yennefer floats in. “I must have missed my invite,” she drawls, though her violet eyes spark with concern. As the sorceress curls herself around Ciri, Geralt releases a slow sigh, willing his anger to dissipate. There will be time later to express his fury at the injustice of it all. For now, Vesemir is right. Jaskier needs his pack, and they aren’t going anywhere.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When Jaskier wakes, it’s to a new melody playing in his mind and the soft glow of love and pack. Longing to wrap himself deeper into such a soothing scent and touch, Jaskier shifts before burrowing himself deeper in the pile of limbs strewn across the floor._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...I have literally no excuse. This is literally 2,000+ words of fluff in a trenchcoat pretending to be plot.

When Jaskier wakes, it’s to a new melody playing in his mind and the soft glow of love and pack. Longing to wrap himself deeper into such a soothing scent and touch, Jaskier shifts before burrowing himself further in the pile of limbs strewn across the floor. 

Geralt blinks open an eye and brushes a hand through Jaskier’s fur, causing him to rumble happily. Ciri rearranges herself until she flops onto Jaskier’s back with a hum while Lambert releases a long snore. Surrounded by the sound and scents of his pack, Jaskier’s worn heart slowly begins to patch itself together. 

At least for the winter, he’s safe among this mishmash of personalities and creatures that make up a family he never imagined he would have. Secure behind the crumbling walls of this old keep and by the crackling flames of the warm fire, the harsh outside world seems far away. Placing one paw on Marya’s leg and another on Eskel’s, Jaskier lays his head in Geralt’s lap and allows his worries to drift away. 

The next thing Jaskier hears is Lambert’s appalled voice say, “Listen-I am happy for you Vesemir and Marya-truly-you’re proof that even if you’re old and wrinkly you can find love-but _please_ for my sanity can you leave the goo goo eyes and lovey dovey shit for the privacy of yourselves?” The ensuing yelp makes Jaskier sneeze with amusement and open his eyes to witness Marya drag Lambert out of the cuddle pile by his ear. 

“Well considering this is _our_ room I’ll save you the trouble and tell you to get your scrawny arse out of here,” Marya remarks lightly. 

“Call us old and wrinkly again boy and you’ll be running walls for the rest of winter,” Vesemir calls from where he lounges beside Jaskier, a hand tangled in his fur. Lambert looks utterly crestfallen as he’s herded out of the room, staring longingly at the pile of limbs and fur still sprawled on the floor. Jaskier huffs out a beseeching whine, ears flicking towards Marya. 

Crossing her arms, the older shifter glances between Lambert and Jaskier before rolling her eyes. “You’re lucky I’m feeling charitable,” she grumbles before stomping back and curling into Vesemir’s lap while maintaining aggressive eye contact with Lambert. Ignoring the challenge, the youngest witcher gratefully bounds back to the pile and sprawls opposite Ciri atop Jaskier. The shifter releases a contented rumble with the return of his final pack member. For the first time in months, his soul is at peace. He would be fine with spending the rest of the winter like this. 

Unfortunately, the problem with living with a pack of wolves is their large stomachs. Feeling the need to stretch their legs anyway, Marya and Jaskier offer to hunt for the group while Geralt and Vesemir insist on tagging along. They have a full house after all; even two shifters are going to need help taking down enough food. 

Jaskier is bounding happily through the first snow of the season, tackling Marya from behind when they both catch a whiff of some deer. Tails wagging, the two shifters bolt off with the witchers trailing behind. Feeling an exhilaration he hasn’t experienced in ages, Jaskier releases a howl as he races Marya for the prize, that instinct telling him to provide for his mate and prove himself rearing its head after so long apart from each other. 

When they reach the clearing Jaskier is elated to spot a doe and buck, but cedes the larger of the two to his mother when he hears her fierce growl. It takes little effort to chase and tackle the doe and, with a snap of his jaws, Jaskier kills it mercifully. When he turns, Jaskier watches in awe as Marya weaves through trees nimbly until she jumps at the panicking buck, dragging it down with the force of her leap before ending its life. 

Satisfied with their kills, both shifters proudly carry their prizes back to where the witchers are just entering the clearing before dropping them at their partners’ feet with a tail wag. Geralt, used to such a gesture, simply scratches behind Jaskier’s ears with a soft smile, brushing a finger along the shifter’s collar. 

“I’d give you some flowers but the snow has covered them all,” he mumbles apologetically. Jaskier’s heart pulses with love at the words and the shifter rubs his head against Geralt to express his thanks. It’s a tradition that the pair engage in; Jaskier doesn’t know how Geralt came up with it but whenever Jaskier hunts for them Geralt gifts him some flowers. Every time he does so the shifter discovers that his heart has room for even more love than he thought. 

Jaskier is distracted from his all-encompassing love however by Vesemir’s bemused look at Geralt while Marya stares at the older witcher expectedly. Oh. Oh no. If Jaskier was human he would be rolling around on the ground with laughter. Marya nudges the kill closer to Vesemir before sitting back down and tilting her head hopefully. Gods is this _really_ how he acted with Geralt when he was trying to earn his favor? Meltitel's tits, Jaskier can't wait to tease Marya about this later. 

Geralt clears his throat. “Accept the offering,” he advises, humor lacing his words. “And when you eat tonight, make sure you finish every bite.” By Vesemir’s expression, Geralt’s tip has only served to confuse him further but the old wolf is nothing if not flexible.

Shrugging, Vesemir hauls the buck over his shoulder. “Nice kill,” he grunts with a nod and pat, causing Marya to crack a lupine grin and bound up so she can lick his face. Jaskier sneezes at Vesemir’s look of shock; oh gods this winter is gonna be a fucking _paradise._

*******

Jaskier has changed his mind. This winter is gonna be a fucking _nightmare._ He tries one more time to snake a hand out and grab a biscuit, only to have the offending limb smacked away once again. “Your Biscuit Privileges have been revoked for the winter,” Marya proclaims, the glint in her eye challenging Jaskier to try for a treat one more time. 

Gazing out to the rest of the pack Marya adds, “Anyone caught attempting to share their biscuits will lose their privilege as well.” No less than four guilty faces look away from Jaskier. Well, there goes that plan. 

Whimpering Jaskier whines, “But Marya-” before snapping his jaw shut at her flinty look. 

Sighing dejectedly, Jaskier slumps against Geralt as he watches the rest of his pack wolf down Marya’s mouthwatering biscuits and tea for dessert. “There there,” Geralt says vaguely as he swallows a biscuit whole. “She may change her mind at some point,” he adds around a mouthful of another. 

Jaskier just glares at him. “A show of solidarity from my mate would have been nice you know,” Jaskier remarks pointedly. 

“I love you Jaskier but I don’t love you that much,” Geralt states solemnly, before swallowing three more treats in succession. Huffing, Jaskier looks away before he starts salivating. Yeah, he can’t blame the witcher. 

To distract himself from the deliciousness he cannot partake in, Jaskier starts humming the melody he had woken up to, trying to put some words to it. And as he surveys his family of misfits and outcasts, lyrics begin flowing into his head. Jumping up, Jaskier runs out of the room. He needs to get his notebook and quill before he forgets. 

*******

“Should we go after him?” Eskel hesitantly asks as he dips his biscuit in some tea. 

“No, that was his “composing” face,” Geralt remarks, reaching out for the last biscuit as Lambert does the same. 

The two witchers freeze and stare each other down. “I’m older,” Geralt claims. 

“And I’m still a growing boy,” Lambert rebuts, and how the fuck does he look so sincere and innocent when he says that load of horseshit? 

“My mate’s mother made them.”

“Your mate isn’t currently allowed to eat them so you should really stand in solidarity with him,” Lambert retorts, eyes hardening. 

Fuck this. Geralt launches himself across the table and tackles Lambert to the ground before scrambling back up to grab the last biscuit only to find the plate empty. Looking around, Geralt catches sight of Ciri subtly moving her jaw. 

Rising slowly Geralt stares, dumbfounded. “I have never felt so betrayed in my life.” 

Ciri shrugs unapologetically. “You threatened to revoke my Biscuit Privileges earlier and made me do extra training with Lambert,” she points out. “Seems only fair.” 

Geralt cringes at Ciri’s statement, casting a furtive glance to Marya who simply raises her eyebrow at him. “I didn’t know you had such a power my boy,” she remarks idly. 

Scrambling for a change of subject Geralt turns to Eskel. “So Eskel? Reading anything good lately?” he asks desperately, releasing a breath of relief when Marya rolls her eyes and let’s it go. Gods that was a close call. 

When Geralt stumbles through their door later that night, high on merriment and Lambert’s moonshine, he finds Jaskier at a desk in one of Geralt’s tunics, hair standing on end and tongue sticking out as he frantically scribbles out poetry in his notebook the witcher gifted him last year. Gods he’s hot. Humming to himself, Geralt drags himself over to the love of his life and props his chin atop Jaskier’s head. 

Peering down, Geralt grunts at the messy scrawl and scratched out lines scattering the pages. “Been hard at work?” he mumbles as he tries to read the nearly illegible writing. Hmm. The words should stop dancing. That would help. 

“Hello love,” Jaskier says distractedly, hand not ceasing its movements. Knowing better than to interrupt Jaskier when he’s in the zone, Geralt flops onto their bed, burrowing into the furs with a happy hum. Smells like home. Soon he’s joined by two warm and equally as drunk bodies and with a happy sigh, Geralt drifts off to sleep. 

*******

The candle Jaskier had lit at some point is flickering with its final sparks of life when he finally pushes his notebook away with a sigh. Stretching, Jaskier winces at the crick in his neck. Gods, how long was he working? 

Turning around, Jaskier has to muffle a laugh at the tableau that greets him. Geralt is face planted in the furs, not even under the covers, while Eskel’s leg and arm are thrown over his brother and Lambert is sprawled on top of him. Smiling fondly at his disaster wolves, Jaskier crawls onto the bed, sneaking under one of Geralt’s arms so he lies secure between him and Eskel. With a happy snuffle in his mate’s ear, he releases a long sigh. It’s good to be home. 

*******

Yennefer tosses and turns in her bed for an hour before thumping her head against her pillow with a sigh. Fuck. Finally, she rises, wrapping a nightgown around herself to ward off the chill. Obviously she doesn’t need anyone. But it’s cold in this old keep. She might as well take advantage of the free furnaces undoubtedly piled in Jaskier and Geralt’s room. It only makes sense. 

*******

Ciri lies awake, staring at the shadows dancing along her walls from the candle sputtering in the corner. Shuddering, Ciri watches as the shadows morph into long dead ghosts. With new resolve, she stands and goes to the only people who can chase the shadows away. 

*******

Marya’s head rests on Vesemir’s chest when she shoots up, waking him. Throwing off the remnants of sleep Vesemir peers around the room, alert and ready for an attack. When none comes, he turns to Marya. Her eyes are wide while her chest rises and falls as though she had run miles without ceasing. Oh. Nightmare. 

He goes to touch her shoulder, withdrawing when Marya jolts away. Turning her gaze to Vesemir she stares at him wordlessly. His heart clenches at how small this stalwart woman looks. Carefully broadcasting his movements, Vesemir slowly wraps his arms around her. “Want to talk about it?” He tightens his grip when Vesemir realizes Marya is trembling. 

“Julian,” is all she says, but that is enough explanation for him to understand.

Vesemir hums. “Let’s check on him,” he determines, and by the look of gratitude in Marya’s eyes, it’s the right thing to say. 

When they make their way to Jaskier and Geralt’s room, the pair pause at the threshold. “Huh. We need a bigger bed.” 

Shrugging, Vesemir continues into the room. They’ll make it work for tonight. Tomorrow perhaps they can start a new project, one just as important as reinforcing walls and stocking supplies. 

As Vesemir and Marya squeeze onto the remaining space of the bed, wary of the ominous creaking that sounds in response, the witcher shakes his head with amazement. If anyone told him years ago that one day he would be sharing a bed with three other witchers, a princess, a sorceress, and two shifters, one of whom he’s madly in love with, he would order them to run the walls for weeks. 

Yet here he is. He never knew that witchers could have a family. Never knew they could have love, that they could be happy. 

And despite what he said to Geralt, Vesemir will burn down anyone and anything who dares threaten to take this away. It’s with that final vow and the melody of snores, murmurs, and rustling limbs that Vesemir finds himself drifting off to sleep. It’s good to have his home back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to SteamPoweredAce for the glorious idea of Marya engaging in some mating/courting rituals of her own. We'll see more of that as well as the debut of Jaskier's song and some other treats in the next chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The next morning, Geralt wakes up to the feeling of being slightly smothered. There are several weights that are pressing into and around him, and Geralt seems to be blinded by someone else’s hair. Groaning at the pounding in his head, Geralt gropes a hand to what he guesses is Lambert before slapping his face. “Wha?” the younger Witcher grunts, wiping away some wayward slobber._
> 
> _Hitting Lambert’s face harder Geralt growls, “What the fuck did you put in that drink?”_
> 
> _“Love,” Lambert mumbles, rolling away from Geralt’s hungover-fueled attack and promptly falling back to sleep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has commented and given kudos on this fic. As always, your enthusiasm, reactions, and commentary serve as inspiration and motivation for me and I am truly grateful to you!
> 
> DarkInuFan, thank you for the brilliant idea of just having everyone cuddle on the floor because, let's be real, a bed isn't realistic. Thank you for the idea of some 2x2 sparring with the elder and younger wolves as well!

The next morning, Geralt wakes up to the feeling of being slightly smothered. There are several weights that are pressing into and around him, and Geralt seems to be blinded by someone else’s hair. Groaning at the pounding in his head, Geralt gropes a hand to what he guesses is Lambert before slapping his face. “Wha?” the younger Witcher grunts, wiping away some wayward slobber. 

Hitting Lambert’s face harder Geralt growls, “What the fuck did you put in that drink?”

“Love,” Lambert mumbles, rolling away from Geralt’s hungover-fueled attack and promptly falling back to sleep. 

“Stop jostling the bed,” a muffled voice whines from lower down the mattress. Raising his head (and immediately regretting doing so), Geralt watches as Jaskier flails and falls off of him, landing partially on Marya, who is currently lying on top of Vesemir. Squinting around the bed, Geralt notes with bemusement that the entire keep somehow joined them last night, meaning that several people are currently being used as back up beds. Blooming warmth at the sight slowly spreads through his chest until Geralt feels tingly down to his fingers and toes. 

“What are you so bloody cheerful about this morning?” Yennefer grouches. Peering down the bed, Geralt snorts at the picture the usually pristine sorceress makes. Cheek squished against Eskel’s leg, Yennefer’s hair is sticking on end as she blinks slowly up at him.

“Came to join us slobbery wolves?” he teases. 

Rolling her eyes Yennefer grumbles, “Don't flatter yourself. It was cold and you happen to be walking furnaces.” 

“Hmm,” Geralt says sceptically. At this point several tangled limbs are stirring slowly and the occasional unhappy moan sounds as people find themselves in painful and uncomfortable positions. 

“Time to get up you lazy bastards,” Vesemir rasps from where he’s buried under Marya. 

“Look who’s talking,” Eskel mumbles. 

“Wall runs,” Vesemir yawns, pointing a floppy finger at Eskel, poking Jaskier in the face in the process. 

When Jaskier sleepily bites the finger in retaliation Vesemir growls lowly, only to have Marya smack a hand over his mouth. “No growling at my boy,” Marya rumbles. 

“Breakfast,” Ciri demands imperiously from where she is sprawled on top of Lambert. 

“Go make it yourself,” her pillow groans. 

Geralt sighs. Why does he always have to be the adult? Clambering out of a bed that currently holds 6 times the recommended capacity without stepping on anything tender proves to be too difficult though. So, after a hum of consideration Geralt shoves at Lambert and subsequently Ciri and Eskel, grinning at the outraged shouts of the trio as they collapse to the ground. “You broke my face dad,” Ciri bemoans.

“Eh, you’re fine. Yennefer can replace it for you.” 

“Free of charge for friends and family,” Yennefer says idly, stretching from the newly vacated space on the bed. With a kiss on his dozing mate who is currently cuddling the arm he was attacking earlier, Geralt climbs out of bed to start breakfast for his pack. 

It’s not for another half hour until the last straggler stumbles downstairs with a yawn. Breakfast is a relatively quiet affair; bleary eyes blink around the table as food is shoveled into eager mouths. 

“Hey Marya and Vesemir?” Jaskier eventually yawns. At the inquiring hum Jaskier says, “You two train together right?” Jaskier shovels another mouthful of food as he gets an affirming nod before asking, “Can you teach Geralt and me to fight together?” 

Geralt’s spoon clatters in his bowl as he stares at his mate. “Plan to include me in this conversation little wolf?” Gerlt asks wryly, trying to disguise his nerves. 

Jaskier bites his lip before looking up at him with an expression the shifter knows Geralt can’t say no to. “It’s just-now that I have a sword and I’ve fought a bit more in my shifter form, I just think it would be beneficial for us to-you know-“ he gestures vaguely with his spoon- “combine our forces? I shouldn’t just stay on the sidelines while you risk your life for us everyday.” 

Rising panic claws at Geralt’s throat as he eyes the fresh scar still healing along Jaskier’s arm. He barely escaped with his life a few weeks ago and the bard is already eager to jump back in the fray? Is he mad? 

With a considering hum, Vesemir leans back in his chair, fingers laced over his stomach. “Not a bad idea,” he muses. “Witchers were never trained to fight in pairs but it will keep your bard from being too much of a sitting duck and prevent you from getting into any close calls like last year.” 

No. Fuck no. Geralt turns to Marya, eyes pleading for her to discourage this foolish suggestion. But his stomach plummets when she only leans forward with an eager glint in her eye. “Excellent idea pup, we’ll start today,” she says approvingly. 

There is a roaring in Geralt’s ears at the pronouncement and his hands grow clammy. Feeling disconnected from reality, Geralt distantly feels himself scrape his chair back abruptly before fleeing the room. 

He is running through his basic forms out on the training field when the familiar scent of honey and pine wafts towards him. Finishing a final spin and stab, Geralt turns to greet the approaching figure of his mate, swallowing when he spots the sword he gifted him swinging from Jaskier’s hip. Leaning up to kiss Geralt softly Jaskier murmurs, “Can we talk?” 

Geralt grunts begrudgingly before restarting his forms. Mirroring him, Jaskier runs through them as well, and beneath the white noise still buzzing through his head Geralt can’t help but admire the fluid grace of his mate. He makes it look so much like dancing. “I should apologize,” Jaskier starts as he executes a perfect spin. “I should’ve warned you I was going to ask them to train us.” 

Geralt opens his mouth to respond, to protest, only to clamp it shut again, scowling. He hates how hard words can be sometimes. Instead he simply hums. Thank the gods Jaskier knows him enough to understand Geralt even when he fails to use words. 

As he lunges and retreats, Jaskier explains, “This past season...it rattled me. Between the shitstorm with my public shifts and close calls with you and some of the monsters you faced, I would just feel more comfortable, more confident, if we learned how to fight together."

Finally Jaskier stops the drill, looking at Geralt with a mixture of apprehension and hope that the witcher is helpless to resist. He stares at his mate, grappling with the request. Geralt understands why Jaskier asked, and part of him is drawn to the idea of fighting beside his mate. But he can’t shake the horror of hearing about Jaskier’s run in with the Nifgaardians and the years of protective instincts from when he still thought the shifter was nothing but a helpless bard.

But his mate needs this, he can see it in his blue eyes that carry a phantom pain from the trial of these past few months. Geralt blows out a sigh. “Okay,” he agrees, hurriedly dropping his sword as Jaskier launches himself into Geralt’s arms. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier whispers into the witcher’s shoulder. Geralt can only squeeze him in response, burying his nose in the shifter's hair to ground himself. Yes, he'll do this for his mate. 

Later that day, the training field is clear of everyone but the two shifters and two witchers. “The key to fighting as a unit is imagining your partner as your extra limbs, not a separate entity,” Marya lectures. To demonstrate, she moves to attack Jaskier while Vesemir simultaneously lunges for Geralt. “You move as one, covering each other’s blind spots. Where one of you leaves, the other fills in.” 

Geralt and Jaskier scramble to block the oncoming attacks as their elders push forward, spinning as one so now Vesemir is facing off against Jaskier and Marya is before Geralt. If he wasn’t pouring all of his energy into parrying the rapid-fire strikes, Geralt would take a moment to be impressed. As it is however, he only finds himself defending and retreating, shooting furtive glances to where Jaskier is determinately doing the same.

“Trust that your partner has your back,” Vesemir barks, as he lunges at Geralt. Taking a steady breath, Geralt does his best to take the advice. It is one of the most exhausting training drills Geralt has experienced; after decades of fighting alone Geralt keeps finding himself stumbling into Jaskier. 

It doesn't help that Marya and Vesemir fight like they read each other’s minds. Gods, if he and Jaskier could manage to harness this kind of unity they would be unstoppable. Buoyed by that thought, Geralt presses fiercely against Vesemir, shoving him back with a kick of his boot. 

The next thing he knows, Geral is pinned to the ground by a snarling wolf, his breath caught in his throat. 

“Um. Is this part of the training exercise?” Jaskier inquires, crouching down to where Geralt lies trapped. When Marya growls and snaps at him Jaskier slowly backs up. “Ah, I’m going to say no then,” he mutters. 

“Marya! We weren’t planning on training in shifted forms today,” Vesemir protests. At his voice the shifter backs off of Geralt before trotting over to her partner and rubbing her head against his leg with a wag. Blinking helplessly up at Jaskier and Geralt, Vesemir rasps, “Is she alright?” 

While Geralt wisely keeps his mouth shut the bard is not so self-controlled and starts bursting out laughing, leaning over to press his hands to his knees. When Marya stands on her hind legs to better reach Vesemir’s face so she can mouth at his jaw and snuffle in his ear the witcher turns to Geralt imploringly.

Fuck. _Why_ is it always up to him? 

You know what, it really shouldn’t have to be in this case. Turning to Jaskier who has tears streaming down his face Geralt drawls, “She’s your mum. You explain.” That seems to halt Jaskier’s mirth in his tracks. This time, the pleading expression sent his way does absolutely nothing to him, and Geralt simply looks back smugly, sitting up to better watch the show. 

Glaring at Geralt, Jaskier says casually, “Say Vesemir, has Marya been acting strangely? Eager to get her scent on you, wanting to hunt a lot, perhaps even trying to groom you?” 

Vesemir’s eyebrows rise. “All of the above in fact,” he says through a mouthful of fur. 

Tilting his head, Jaskier hums. “Hey Mar-Mar?” When the shifter turns with a growl, Jaskier simply bares his teeth in return. “You might want to fill Vesemir in on the mating practices of wolves.” And with that fucking bombshell, Jaskier flutters his fingers in a lazy wave and saunters away. Knowing he doesn’t want to be anywhere near this ensuing conversation, Geralt scrambles to follow him. 

Later that night, Jaskier slinks off again to work more on his latest song idea, with a promise to debut it to the pack once it’s finalized. Unwilling to have the image of Vesemir being even more affectionate than usual become seared into his brain, Geralt soon follows his mate. 

When Geralt enters their room, Jaskier stops mid-strum on his lute, an act he’s never done in the 20+ years they’ve known each other. “Don’t stop on my account,” Geralt rumbles, raising an eyebrow when the normally shameless bard blushes.

“I’m sorry my dear-it’s just a more personal song than my usual fare-I don’t want you to hear it until it’s perfected,” he explains with a bite of his lip. 

Humming, Geralt crosses the room to nuzzle his throat before meeting Jaskier for a soft kiss. “Okay,” he shrugs. 

The next day, Geralt finds Jaskier at the springs in a boneless pile of mush as Eskel massages his neck. (With Lambert’s instituted rules, it’s become safe for everyone in the keep to use the public baths again, to the relief of all.) 

“Damn little wolf your neck is a fucking mess,” Eskels observes, digging his thumbs into another knot and chuckling at the bard’s grateful moan. 

“Blame it on the frantic songwriting and current sleeping arrangements,” Jaskier groans, lolling his head back. With a final soothing rub along the shifter’s neck, Eskel pats his back. 

Turning so he faces the witcher, Jaskier noses at the crook of his neck. “Thank you beautiful,” he hums. Geralt’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at the endearment coupled with the mix of shock, doubt, and pleasure crossing Eskel’s face. 

Hmm. Interesting. Well, Eskel deserves to be called nice things. He’s always snapped at anyone who complimented his appearance in the past though. Leave it to Jaskier to break down some of those walls. 

It’s not for another week until Jaskier pulls out his lute as everyone in the keep piles into the new communal cuddling room. After the first night at the keep, Lambert and Jaskier cleared out an abandoned room, tracking down and shaking out any furs and rugs that had been lying around the castle and lugging them there.

Blankets, decorations, and trinkets from each of the pack member's rooms have since made their way to this newest addition, and as of tonight it has been dubbed the official Communal Cuddling Room. Since people still need their privacy, they have their own rooms, but this area of the keep will always be open for those seeking some extra affection for the night. Knowing their pack, it will be full most evenings. 

As everyone settles comfortably in the room, Ciri plopping in Geralt’s lap, Jaskier clears his throat nervously. “So as we have firmly established at this point, I had a bit of a shit end to my year,” he begins, fiddling with the worn flower charm dangling from his lute. Hmm. Geralt should get him a new one. 

“You all have helped me heal though, which I can’t express my gratitude for. And-well-this is just my attempt at processing what happened I suppose.” Clearing his throat, Jaskier closes his eyes and begins strumming slowly before he opens his mouth to sing. 

_Look at me  
Look in my heart  
Are we truly worlds apart?  
Tell me, tell me tell the truth_

As he moves to the next stanza Jaskier’s voice rises and floods with emotion and Geralt feels gooseflesh pepper along his arms. Unconsciously, he finds himself tightening his arms around Ciri’s waist. 

_Oh listen to me one and all  
Listen to me plead and call  
To search your heart and know it’s true  
That I am just like you_

_For we are just like any other  
Be it a brother, sister, mother  
See past your fear, look in my eyes  
And banish all these lies_

Geralt releases a low whine as tears begin sliding down Jaskier’s cheeks, his voice breaking and pleading on his next lines. His knuckles knock against the wood of the lute to the beat of his words, echoing throughout the room.

_See me as I am  
Human just like you  
See me as I am  
Just trying to muddle through _

_Oh see me as I am  
Worthy of love like all the rest  
See me as I am  
Don’t spit on me like some bloody pest _

Returning to the opening melody of the song, Jaskier softens his voice. 

_So please-  
Look at me  
Look in my heart  
Tell me, are we worlds apart?  
Are we world’s apart?_

The final note vibrates in the air and Jaskier stands still, eyes still sealed shut. As the song ends Geralt’s grip on Ciri has completely loosened while he tries to pick up the pieces of his shattered heart. Opening and shutting his mouth like a bloody fish, Geralt abruptly stands to sweep his love into his arms. “Whatever the opposite of a pie without its filling is. That was it,” Geralt finally mumbles. 

“That’s the highest praise I’ve ever gotten,” Jaskier laughs wetly. With a tug, Geralt drags his bard to the ground, gently removing and setting aside his lute so it wouldn’t poke into any squishy body parts. 

“Prepare yourself ‘cause I’m about to cuddle the living fuck outta you,” Lambert announces, rolling to plop his head on Jaskier’s chest and wrapping an arm around his torso. 

Nodding his head Eskel draws beside the bard, brushing a hand through his hair. “Same here.” 

Soon Jaskier is surrounded on all sides by his pack and a steady rumbling sounds through the room. Closing his eyes, Geralt nuzzles Jaskier’s cheek with a happy hum. Cuddling the living fuck out of him sounds like the perfect plan. Not like Geralt would ever admit that to Lambert though-he’d never hear the end of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are my own poor attempts to channel Jaskier's angstiness utilizing my current levels of angst. Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
